


Tortuga

by hafren



Series: Heartlands [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafren/pseuds/hafren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in the series "Heartlands". Vila finds that a relationship born of loneliness has become crucial to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tortuga

**Author's Note:**

> "There are always other islands, further on"   
> \- Old pirate saying

Vila woke shivering in the night. The thin blanket no longer covered him; he had scrunched it up and was hugging it close. He glanced around the bare cell, where the light never went out, and buried his face in the blanket.

At least on Gauda, and on the way back, he and Avon had been together. Now Servalan's trial had started, they were kept apart in case they colluded on their testimony. He'd been alone for weeks. While he testified, he'd been in court every day, seeing people, speaking, being talked to. Not to mention the pleasure of seeing her in the dock, older in prison clothes and without her careful mask of make-up. But that was over; for days he had seen only guards, who barely spoke. It must be Avon, now, who was giving evidence.

The blanket smelt stale. He recalled nights on Gauda, cuddling into Avon's leather coat, and for a moment its smell was in his nostrils, as sharply as if it were there with him. He choked and swallowed, then threw the blanket aside and walked up and down, trying to get warm. He couldn't sleep more than a few hours, these nights. Probably Avon was no better. On Gauda, his nights had been full of bad dreams, but Vila had learned to watch for them and calm him before they took hold, so that often he didn't even wake._ And if he does, I'm there, to keep the memories away like he keeps the cold and fear from me. Nobody's doing that now._

He heard the heavy door at the end of the passage opening; guards' steps, and tensed automatically.

"Where the hell do we put this lot?"

"Have to double up. Only one in here." They were right outside. Vila wasn't sure whether to be elated at the thought of company or worried about what kind it might be.

"Yeah, get the other one. I think he's finished in court anyway."

"Could just put one of the new ones in here."

"No, I want those bastards together where we can keep an eye on them."

They moved off. Vila's heart was thumping. They might bring Avon back. He knew now how much he had missed him, and he would never have thought it possible.

Sometimes when Avon was dreaming, Vila had kissed his sleeping mouth, parting the lips like petals, so gently he never woke. At least, Vila assumed he didn't. Avon never mentioned it in the morning and Vila had never dared try it when they were both awake. Conscious, Avon would let him huddle close for warmth or comfort and that was it. Well, he'd warned Vila not to expect more, and Vila had said he could live on it. He'd always been a good liar. And a good thief, stealing by night what he feared to claim in daylight.

When indeed the door opened and Avon was pushed in, it was all Vila could do to keep still until the guards left. As soon as they did, he ran to Avon and hugged him. Avon hugged back, absently, and said, "Do you know anything about these new prisoners?"

"No. Maybe" - the words hurt – "they're rebels. I gave away the names of plenty."

"Stop crucifying yourself; anyone you gave them was taken long ago. Anyway I don't think they're political. The guards called them Tortugans. I've never heard the name, and Bl- we knew most dissident groups. Do you know them?"

"Know _of_ them. Robbers, but way out of my league. Modelled themselves on old-style pirates. They're not political; they'd live outside the law whatever it was."

"The guards just put three of them in my cell. They looked arrogant as hell, and not particularly worried, which suggests they aren't very bright. They reckoned their friends would be along for them, which suggests the friends in question are even less bright."

"Their main talent's violence. But they're supposed to be very loyal … Oh Avon, it's so good to have you back. How are you? Have you been sleeping all right? How was it in court; how's the case against her looking? Any news about anyone else?"

Avon put his hands up to ward off the barrage. "Give me a chance. The case is fine; she looks dead already. Then it will be our turn, I suppose. I haven't heard about – anyone else, not since Tarrant was shot. And… no, I haven't been sleeping much." He gave Vila a rare, hesitant smile, put an arm round him and pulled him close for a second. Vila glowed. He'd thought that when he got company again, he wouldn't be able to stop talking, but he found he was content to sit on the bed with Avon's arm around him, just knowing he was there. _And knowing you missed me, even if you won't say it_.

"This is the happiest day I've had since we got here, you know that? The day I figured the locks out wasn't bad, but this is better."

"You can do the locks?"

"Yes, but getting out of the compound is something else. I slipped out for a look one night; armed guards and arc lights everywhere. I was glad to get back in one piece. It isn't going to be easy. In fact I was in despair about it. But I know it'll work out now."

Avon raised an eyebrow. "Your confidence seems sadly misplaced, considering who got you in here." But he sounded pleased. He lay back on the bed, drawing Vila down with him; neither felt sleepy but they rested companionably in the night silence.

Which, suddenly, was broken by a thunderous clamour, seemingly composed of gunfire, explosives and hideous yelling. Vila clung frantically to Avon, whimpering.

"Ssh," said Avon, "listen". From down the corridor they heard the new prisoners singing, as if to signal their whereabouts. "I do believe," Avon remarked, "that the rescue party has come after all. They must be mad; they'll get slaughtered."

"I'm not so sure. That's the inner door just blown in. Maybe they took them by surprise. Quick in and out, they can do it."

The invaders were in the passage now. They gave a great cheer and started hammering. Vila jumped up and set about the door with a tiny plastic blade. "They'll never do it that way; they need help." He got it open and peered warily out. At one end of the corridor were the remains of a door and several dead guards. At the other, a cluster of men belabouring a lock. And a lookout, his gun levelled at Vila's head.

"It's all right, we're prisoners too. I can shift that lock faster than you can. Just let us come with you. And if you could aim that somewhere else…. ?" Vila tended to babble when panicking. But the lookout gestured him towards the door. It took seconds; terror always improved his work rate and the prospect of being caught in crossfire between Federation guards and a bunch of six-foot bearded psychopaths was all the incentive he needed. When he did it, they cheered again, and one gave Vila a rib-cracking hug.

Then they were running, firing, throwing explosives, breaking out into the compound where the arc lights had been disabled and apparently most of the guards too. There were more Tortugans, their arms up to the elbows in blood. It was chaos, darkness lit by explosions, a soundtrack of gunfire and screams, and Vila was never sure, afterwards, just what had happened. The attack seemed to have succeeded via speed and surprise, but also, he suspected, because the guards were unmanned by the savagery of their assailants and wanted nothing to do with them. He still wasn't sure he did himself.

But they were away and running, and though, with no exercise in months, it was hard to keep up, adrenalin and the alternative helped. And there was a spaceship, long and low, built for speed, and they all piled on. More chaos – at least it sounded chaotic but everyone seemed to know what they were doing and remarkably soon they were airborne. Vila got his breath back, and found time to panic again.

"This thing can move, Avon, but it surely can't outrun Federation pursuit ships, or outgun them." A passing Tortugan grinned at him, showing broken teeth. "She won't have to," he said, "she's cloaked. She'll slip by and they won't notice a fucking thing." Avon lit up with interest and went to look at the controls. Vila closed his eyes. It seemed the best way to await any attack, and suddenly he was exhausted.

When he woke, he saw they had outrun pursuit, for the crew were at ease – indeed, apart from the pilot and a few technicians at the console, they looked drunk. They were singing, swapping tales of the raid, comparing wounds and trophies. And relaxing in other ways. Avon, back beside him, watched them.

"Vila," he said quietly, "are they…"

Vila followed his gaze over to a blond-bearded giant who, from the way he'd been giving orders earlier, might be the captain. He looked almost sober; he was too busy nuzzling the neck of the dark-haired young man beside him to attend to the drink much.

"Yes," Vila said, "and the rest. There'll be women at their base, but they'll share them. This, they sign papers and it's for life. They share loot, women… anything else they fancy. It's one reason I never went near them. If you're with someone it's all right; they respect that, but if you're alone and no good at fighting back, you're probably fair game." His voice shook, recalling penal colonies where he'd been no good at fighting back.

A hand ruffled his hair and he started violently. "Hey, easy." He looked up and up – they were all impossibly tall - into a lean, scarred grin. The voice was friendly enough, but the appraising, hungry glint in the eyes was all too familiar. "I don't bite. Unless you'd like me to?" The hand traced his jawline; cupped his face. His whole body tensed.

Avon pulled his head round, none too gently, and kissed him on the mouth. His arm around him, he stared up at the Tortugan with the possessiveness Vila had seen him adopt towards Orac. The man moved off, with a placatory gesture, and Vila breathed out. Avon kept hold of him.

"All right," he said, almost into Vila's hair, "I can see the problem. As far as they are concerned, you're mine."

"Suits me." In a spirit of mischief, he nibbled Avon's ear. "Well, we should make it look good."

"Don't push it." Avon returned to the console. But he kept an eye on Vila from a distance whenever anyone went near him. Vila watched him, seeing what the Tortugans saw: careful manners, graceful movements, made sinister by the danger they thinly masked. _You're really something, you know that?_ The technicians looked admiring, and wary.

Vila's eyes were drawn back to the blond captain. His arm was hurt, and his mate had taken the bandage off. It was a bullet wound, which they surveyed with less concern than pride. The dark one touched his lips to it, then bound it up again. The captain smiled at him and crossed to the console. The other watched him, eyes shining. They seemed so proud: of themselves, each other, what they had. They were thieves, but this they hadn't stolen; it was theirs openly and by right. For life. Vila felt a pang, like regret for something lost or never possessed. Someone passed him a bottle and he drank.

Avon caught his eye; motioned him across to the console. At the edge of the visual a silver speck had appeared. "Is that your base?" Vila asked the captain.

"Yeah, that's Tortuga, for now. Still a way off, but it's good to see it."

"For now?"

"Oh, the Federation'll find it and blow it out of the sky sooner or later, but by then we'll be somewhere else. There's always another one, farther on. They've torched any number of our bases, but they never found us at home." He grinned across at his mate; the young man came over to stand beside him. The captain turned to Avon.

"I'm Reis; that's Rafi. We owe you. You can stay as long as you want."

 

Tortuga was temporary. It was for living in while you could and moving out of in a hurry when you had to. It was a crescent of seashore, with deep caves which acted as ship hangars. There were a couple of wooden huts, but the Tortugans lived in tents. Admittedly they were furnished with every luxury – one of the huts housed a huge pile of loot which seemed to be common property – but the settlement could be dismantled in minutes. The bay struck Vila as beautiful, but it obviously wouldn't be a good plan to get attached to it.

Lying back on a pile of furs, the bed in the tent he was sharing with Avon, he enjoyed the feel of not wearing prison clothes. Their hosts favoured flashy stuff; velvet and brocade for preference, with a lot of jewellery, but he'd found some soft green hide, kid or chamois by the feel and, he hoped, inconspicuous. Avon seemed to have aimed for the same effect but, Vila thought, less successfully, because the dark brown tunic he wore just made his eyes deeper and more magnetic… Well, his aura of danger should protect him.

They'd been there some weeks, and Vila was beginning to relax. While he stayed near Avon, he'd be safe. At least, from others' urges. His own troubled him more. In prison, he'd thought that once they were with people again, his dependence on Avon would ease. He knew his need for company was almost pathological; he'd assumed Avon was simply the only focus it had. At times, in his odyssey through the penal system, he'd clung to someone for a while, for protection or food or because they were vaguely kind to him and it was better than being alone. This would be the same. But it wasn't, not any more.

He shadowed Avon, not from fear of the Tortugans, but because he couldn't bear being out of his sight. He found it hard even to take his eyes off him. He would watch Avon's hands as he washed, his white teeth tearing into meat, the back of his neck, pale against dark tendrils of hair, as he pored over star charts. And always it seemed to Vila that no-one had ever done these simple things with such grace before. Fortunately this fitted the impression they were meant to be giving, as he'd pointed out when Avon noticed him being particularly doe-eyed. "We're supposed to be an item, remember? Ever heard of acting?" _And I am. Every time I pretend you don't mean the sun, moon and stars to me_.

Avon was by the entrance, looking out. The brown tunic and trousers were softer and looser than his trademark black leather; they flowed over him in a way that vaguely reminded Vila of something he couldn't place. It also reminded him, not at all vaguely, of his own feelings. He drifted into fantasy, thinking himself into the pliant cloth where it brushed chest fur, skimmed smooth skin, outlined curves and clefts… Avon half-turned towards him and he lowered his eyes quickly, hoping they hadn't already said too much.

"I'm going to walk down to the radio hut. Want to come?"

"Yes." _And jump you on the beach, and make love at the tide's edge, so you taste of salt. But I'll settle for a walk_.

It was noon; the sand was hot on his bare feet and the lazy summer day would have been perfect but for the Tortugans. They sat or stood in little clumps, talking sombrely, or silent and furrowed, cold sober, nothing like their normal relaxed selves.

"They're getting jumpier by the minute, Avon. I don't like it."

"Well, they expected that ship back two days ago and they've had no word. It's probably just a communications problem but the way they live, they're bound to worry."

The Tortugans might not have worried so much about the ship, Vila suspected, if the captain hadn't been on it. They'd hardly been back when he set off again, wounded arm and all, on another rescue mission. It seemed there'd been a fourth prisoner, taken in the same action but separated from the rest and sent to a frontier planet for medical research. Reis had taken a smaller party this time; he'd been confident of success but as Avon said, the ship was late and for two days the atmosphere had been edgy.

They were so preoccupied, they weren't even eyeing Vila up. From the start, his slight frame and vulnerable air had been a liability, as it had in the penal colonies. Some of the Tortugans were like Reis and his mate, wrapped up in each other, commitment blazing in their faces. But many weren't. Though they would give their lives for each other in battle, they'd also screw whoever came handy. And they respected other partnerships only when it was dangerous not to. A few times, with Avon absent, Vila had been propositioned. He'd thought of telling them he and Avon were devoted, like Reis and Rafi, but he doubted they'd believe it. Avon just didn't look at him that way. So he said Avon was jealous and would beat him if he strayed. They believed that. A bit of Vila wished he believed it too.

There was a sudden commotion from the radio hut and the Tortugans were instantly alert. A technician came running out, almost incoherent with joy. "It's all right, they're on their way. They got him out and no-one's dead. They'll be here tomorrow."

Vila was genuinely pleased for them. All around him they were singing, hugging, firing guns. He drank with them, until a more than friendly hug made him realise Avon wasn't there. Vila followed him into the hut. It was makeshift, but the equipment inside was state-of-the-art, like all the Tortugans' portable goods. The operator was talking to the ship, while Avon watched. He motioned Vila outside.

"It was just a communications failure, then?"

" No, there was no failure. It is more likely Reis just didn't want to talk. It wasn't as easy as he thought. One was badly hurt and Reis blames himself. Rightly, I expect."

The indifference in the tone annoyed Vila. "I like Reis. And they're his people; if it was his fault, he's probably feeling terrible."

"Yes, I expect he is," Avon said quietly, and Vila cursed himself. _You fool, you've known him long enough; can't you tell when he's masking something?_ He felt like saying sorry, but knew it would make matters worse. As for his other impulse, which was to hold Avon close and stroke his hair, the reaction didn't bear thinking about.

He gestured at the celebrating Tortugans. "They're back to normal with a vengeance. Ten minutes ago they were all sober."

In a few hours, hardly anyone was. The Tortugans were drinkers, but normally they could hold it. Now, relief made them more drunk than alcohol. They'd lit a huge fire on the still-warm beach and crowded round it. Avon and Vila sat with them, feeling a bit of solidarity would be politic. Vila was getting uneasy.

The Tortugans were definitely more unpredictable without their captain. A fight was brewing, over one of the women. Three or four were there, handsome in a wild sort of way, but Vila suspected they all looked ten years older than their real age. All the chores fell to them; few women stayed in Tortuga by choice and he could see why. The trouble had flared around a gaunt, dark woman and a man holding her hand, claiming her. "She's mine, contracted and sealed; she ain't common property."

"I call that right unsociable, seeing there ain't enough to go round."

"Call it what you like, just keep your fucking hands off."

The other lunged, but friends pulled him away, shoving another woman at him. Nobody seemed to be staking a claim to her, and she looked past caring whether she was with this man or that. He pushed her to the ground and tore at her clothes. Vila was shocked. _He's never going to do it here, just like that… he is too…_ But her bored, empty expression never changed.

The man and wife were at it too, and looking round, Vila saw they weren't alone. For many, the lack of women was no problem; at this rate they were heading for a full-scale orgy. He glanced at Avon's face, frozen in distaste, and wondered if they could leave unobserved… probably not. Indeed, a man nearby had already noticed Avon's look.

"If you don't like it, go and be holy somewhere else. But you can leave him, seeing you've got no use for him." He grabbed Vila by the wrist; it was like being held in a vice.

"Let him go." Avon was very still; Vila felt the danger coming off him like dry ice. But fighting was no use… He reached for Avon's hand; tried to catch his eyes, but they were fixed on the Tortugan, who laughed. "Well, it's true, ain't it? You're not fucking him. So why not us?"

There was a murmur of assent. _Shit, this is serious_. Vila glanced at the bored-looking woman, now lying passively under someone else, and spoke in a prison whisper, hardly moving his lips. "Avon, if I'm not yours I'm anybody's. Convince them, _please_." His urgency and fear were palpable.

Avon wrenched him from the Tortugan and rolled on the sand with him, kissing him deeply. _Isn't this just my luck? I've dreamed about nothing else for weeks and when it happens I'm too scared to enjoy it_. He heard encouraging cheers from those too drunk to join in, appreciating the show. Avon broke the kiss for breath, and Vila said in his ear "Good start. But you'll have to go a lot further this time."

Avon looked lost. _Fine time to come over all virginal_. Vila whispered "Force my head down". Avon did, though Vila had to make it look like force. He slid fastenings undone deftly and took Avon in his mouth. Avon's whole body shivered, but presumably not with revulsion, for, as Vila noted with interest, he was not starting from scratch. Vila slid his hands under the tunic, letting his fingertips glide over silky skin, push into fur. Wherever the fingers went, skin quivered, and little gasping cries echoed it. Vila ran his tongue round the shaft hardening in his mouth and felt grains of sand. _I knew there was a drawback to making love on beaches; damn stuff gets everywhere_. But maybe it didn't matter, because he rasped the grains experimentally along the ridge with his tongue, and got his shoulders clawed convulsively in response. _I could make you come, right now_. That might not do for the Tortugans, though. To count as contracted and sealed, he probably had to be unequivocally possessed. At least, his body was certainly telling him so.

Reluctantly he freed his mouth, forestalling a moan of protest by using his hand instead, and looked into Avon's half-shut, glazed eyes. Avon's hands reached out for him, clutched him of their own accord, but in the face he could still read a struggle. _What are you scared of? Hurting me? I'm past caring. Or enjoying it? Oh, you will, you will_. He rose to his knees, pulling Avon with him, and said softly "All the way, Avon. No choice."

Avon looked an anguished "are you sure?" and he nodded. The state the man was in, Vila was amazed he could still consider anything but physical need. But the nod finally acted as permission, and Vila found himself face down on the beach, with impatient hands tearing his clothes. He looked round, wondering if the whole circle was watching. Many were busy with each other, but they did have an audience. He supposed it should bother him, but the kisses on the back of his neck and the hand that had hold of his cock were too distracting. And then there was this other hand, stroking the cleft of… _that's not his hand. Hell, does he think he can just go straight in?_ Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone, laughing, toss what looked like a small bottle to Avon. _Please let that be oil_.

There was a pause and it was, thankfully, oil and, even more thankfully, a hand that was opening and easing him, though very hesitantly. _It isn't so different, you know; one way in or another… _ He thrust back against the fingers inside him, clenched on them, and the hand around his cock echoed the grasp, making him moan in joy and frustration. A hoarse voice said in his ear: "Now?" and he whispered "Yes".

And it hurt, as he'd known it would, because it had all happened too fast really, but for a man with no pain threshold he managed pretty well. When he first cried out, Avon paused, but Vila hissed "It's all right. I'm acting; go on." _I really am an Olympic-class liar_. After that, it was fairly easy to think himself away from the pain with the aid of the hand pulsing him towards orgasm and the other, still fragrant with oil, cupping his face, as if to comfort him. His final cry was ecstasy not pain, and Avon's matched it.

Afterwards was blurred. He dimly recalled more drink, and Avon carrying him to the tent. He woke much later, deep in the furs, turned over unwarily and gasped with pain.

Avon was awake, moving about quietly. As soon as he heard Vila's voice, he came over. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"As in "acting", I suppose." Avon's voice had an edge. "You were in pain, and you still are."

"Just a bit sore. I should wash." He made to get up, but Avon held his shoulder. "I washed you, last night. There was blood..." He paused. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Convincing them not to pass me round the circle like that poor cow?"

"What happened can't have been much better," Avon said quietly. "I should think rape is rape whoever does it."

"Then you've led a sheltered life. Look, Avon, I've been raped; I know what it is. And it isn't about what any man does to you with his cock. It's about saying: I'm stronger than you; I can do this because I want to and you can't stop me. It's what's in a man's eyes and his hands and his voice while he does it. ….God, my head. What was I drinking?"

"That appalling brandy of theirs." Avon's nose wrinkled. "I suppose it killed the pain; I can't see any other reason to get it down."

Vila tried to find his way through the fogged memories. Adept hands, undressing him… holding him… soothing him into sleep. Every inch of him seemed to smell of the scented oil. He cursed the brandy; for once he would have preferred total recall.

He heard voices outside, quiet and subdued. Avon went out and came back with a mug. "Coffee," he said, handing it over, "and the best. They're nothing if not lavish with other people's goods. Stay there and rest; I have to see Reis about getting us out of here."

"Why? I don't reckon there'll be any more trouble."

"Because we are getting nowhere. These people would as soon have the Federation to fight as any other government. I can see why Blake never tried to use them."

_That's the first time you've said his name since Gauda_. "Well, we're not in a position to fight anyone."

"We still have the antidote to pylene-50 – or I have; I memorised it long ago. We need to be somewhere we can make it. A non-Federation planet with decent lab facilities. Reis must have robbed places like that."

"How is he, anyway?"

"Preoccupied. But I can solve one of his problems. The man they freed has a neck implant and it looks like a new application of pylene. If they take us where we want to go, they'll get what they need for him too."

"One of his problems?"

Avon looked away. "It was Rafi who got hurt. Chest wound. I don't think he'll die, but he's fairly sick."

Vila put the mug down, almost dropping it, and struggled upright. "I'll come with you; give me a moment. Poor Reis." Avon shook his head, but didn't stop him.

Vila felt uneasy about disturbing Reis at such a time, but no-one else did. It seemed everyone was in and out with problems they'd saved up while he was away. He dealt with them, glancing over at the bed and clearly dying to get back to it. His men showed no sympathy. Once, when he lost patience and snapped "Can't you sort it?" the man flamed back "That's what we keep you for. You want your own life, stop being captain." And Reis sighed and attended to him. When at last the tent was clear but for them, he turned to Avon who, somewhat to Vila's surprise, said "It can wait; go and see him".

Reis went, gratefully, but beckoned them with him. Rafi was conscious but pale, heavily bandaged, and every breath hurt. The Tortugans' doctor was with him. He nodded to Vila, they'd got friendly through a fondness for drink, but his hand was steady now. Vila guessed he'd be scared enough of Reis to stay sober while his patient was in danger. The captain picked up Rafi's hand from the bed; stroked it, clasped it. Rafi tried weakly to clasp back. He whispered "I'm fine", coughed blood, and his face creased with pain.

"No talking, please." The doctor bent over him, motioning them all away. Reis turned, with an effort, and gave his attention, or some of it, to Avon. "The doc says you've got the cure for our mate?"

"In my head, yes. If you can get us to a lab on neutral ground, it's yours."

"And leave you there?" Avon nodded. Reis studied them both. "Look, I'm sorry if the lads got a bit wild last night. You've got nothing to fear from them… either of you."

"We have things to do. I don't suppose you have any fancy for joining a revolution to set up a just government?"

Reis grinned. "Seeing as we'd be the first ones they'd come after, no, not really. Why do you want to?"

Vila had been wondering that himself. Avon turned his hands palm-up and shrugged slightly. "I have to." _That's about as informative as Blake's explanations… oh hell, that's it, isn't it? This is your guilt trip we're going on_. No longer listening, he watched Avon settling things with Reis and knew whom the loose tunic reminded him of. _You said you didn't want to be him. But you have to keep his dream alive somehow? Is that the only way you can live?_

Rafi coughed. Instantly Reis was with him. "Are you all right, love?" The doctor warded him off. "Don't encourage him to talk; you'll be the death of him, if you haven't already." Reis looked as if he'd been hit. _That's doctors for you, no tact._ Vila pitied him, but it was Avon, to his amazement, who put a hand on the man's arm and squeezed it.

They spent the day packing what the Tortugans had given them; they were indeed lavish with other people's goods. Later they strolled on the beach; Vila let his eyes sweep the bay and remembered why he wasn't going to get attached to it. Tortuga's nights were silvery with a dozen small moons. Avon sat on a rock to look at the lit sea. Vila, who hadn't sat down all day, joined him without thinking and gasped.

"Does it always hurt that much?" asked Avon, not shifting his gaze.

"Course not. Not if there's time to do it right. I'll prove it to you sometime, if you like." Avon looked unconvinced. _But you asked, didn't you? Did you dream about doing it with Blake? He always had you under a spell; does he still?_ In the cool air Vila drew close, and Avon's arm fitted around him. But his eyes were still fixed to the far shimmer.

"You thinking of anyone - anything - in particular?" Vila asked.

"No, not really. Let's go and get some sleep."

Passing the blackened circle of last night's fire, Avon gave him a troubled glance. Vila's walk developed more stiffness than it needed. _If guilt's what binds you, I can use it too. Maybe Rafi wouldn't do it to Reis, but he doesn't have to. He's got Reis, freely given. Me, I've had to steal everything I ever owned_.

In the bed of furs, Vila dreamed of leaving the bay, and the aching sadness woke him. He saw Avon standing at the tent flap, looking out, drenched in silver light. Avon turned and Vila closed his eyes, moaning softly as if still in his dream.

Hands stroking his hair. A cool body sliding in beside his. And a soft rain of kisses, like faint breath, touching all over his lips, his brow, his closed eyelids, as lightly as moths landing.

_So I stole it. That's what I'm good at. What else can I do? You're dead, Blake, which gives you one hell of an advantage, but don't bank on it. The first time we met, I stole your watch._


End file.
